


Paper Trails

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, I just want a happy ending, Post-Game AU, reuinion fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4518453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-game AU fic (since we know Tresspaser is going to break all of our hearts); Solas was passing through a small town to restock his supplies when surprising news of the Inquisitor reaches him. Reunion fic. (Only the fourth chapter is NSFW, so if that's not your thing, you can safely skip to five.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bountyhunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas goes to town for supplies, finds more than he bargains for.

He’d gotten used to seeing the roughly-rendered images of his face hanging on the walls of taverns and various outposts. The WANTED posters had appeared almost within a week of the Inquisitor’s defeat of Corypheus, and seemed to be in every town large enough to have a tavern, even a few that were not. 

Surprising, to say the least, given that the focus was supposed to be on the Inquisitor’s triumph. He’d been sure that news of one of the Inquisitor’s companions going missing after the final battle would get lost in the celebrations. If nothing else, he was sure that Leliana at the very least would try to be a bit more subtle in her inquiries. Of course, even defeating a would-be god would not deter Remli from trying to track him down, and he could only imagine what that conversation had been like. The Inquisitor was nothing if not persistent, to say the least.

That said, it was clear that the artist commissioned to draw his portrait had not known him during his time at Skyhold, not well enough to truly capture his likeness. The bald head and the solemn expression were there, yes, but his eyes were flat and cold, and his ears were drawn too small, his chin, too wide. 

Of course, more attention was paid to the text beneath. By order of the Lady Inquisitor and cosigned by the new Divine Victoria (formerly the Inquisitor’s head spy mistress), the Inquisitor sought news of his whereabouts or any evidence of his passing, paid in full once the information was verified. Although it was not written in the description, any who read news of the Inquisitor’s rise to power knew that a she had taken a mage as a lover, and it did not take the minds of the university to correlate the two. 

Cementing this was a hefty reward of over 100,000 gold. Remli must sold all of those extra sets of armor and crafting materials to come up with such a healthy cash prize, and pulled in a few favors to boot. Such a large bounty might have made him a bit more leery of venturing into towns, had he not had years of refining the skill of making people look the other way.

Yes, he’s gotten used to seeing the posters, enough to take extra care to not be noticed in town, and to quietly destroy them before passing on his way. It never hurt to be cautious.

It was a surprise, therefore, to find a new poster beside his own when he ventured into town for a quick resupply a few months after leaving the Inquisition. It was a medium sized town—too small, and a stranger would be quickly noticed. Too large, and he risked running into people he knew, either solider stationed abroad or some errant minor nobles vacationing abroad. He could easily slip into the Fade to avoid their notice, but when he could simply walk as one of the nameless pilgrims passing through, it was easier for all involved.

Habit drew him to the local news board, looking for the ubiquitous yellowed paper with the ill-rendered portrait upon it. He found it after only a cursory glance, pleased to see the simple poster was fading with the passage of time, and that his figure was little more than a vague shape. However, the freshly printed face on the new poster drew his gaze, and he reached up to run his fingers across the dark etchings. Remli stared out at him, a serene and slightly cryptic smile on her face.

He recognized the picture at once, a simple render from an official portrait the advisors had commissioned after her triumph at Halamshiral. Having something to work with other than vague descriptions, this time the artist had caught a better likeness of his subject. Remli stared out at the viewer, challenging them to confront her, finding humor in the idea that someone would try. She’d apparently cut her hair again, back to that loose shoulder-length style that never quite stayed in one place, despite her best attempts. She was barefaced and simply dressed, the vague outlines of her daggers behind her. His Vhenan, unadorned with the trappings of leadership and unbowed by the weight of responsibility. His heart ached at the sight of her. 

Not that they had named her by her title or even her clan, of course. Instead, they called her, Sylvirem’lin, her full name, and simply stated that she was wanted for questioning by Commander Cullen’s order. Imperative that she be returned to the Inquisition unharmed and in good health. Inquisition representatives could be contacted for assistance with any transportation costs or damages rendered during conveyance. A reward was mentioned although not stated, although the implications of deep coffers was subtly worked into the description.

Interesting. He pulled the sheet of paper down and took it with him as he entered the tavern. It was still early afternoon, too late for the farmers coming in for their midday meals, and too early for travelers to stop for their final meal of the day. As such, he easily found a seat in a quiet corner of the room, his staff tucked out of sight but close at hand, should the need arise. 

Once again, he studied the sheet of paper, folding it in half and smoothing the paper so that only her face stared out at him. The maid who took his order lingered, however, her attention drawn to the prize in front of him. She twisted a lock of dirty blonde hair around her finger, smiling bashfully at him under lowered eyelashes. Most likely an attempt to get a higher tip. Strange that she thought she would get any additional coin from him, though, given his simple attire. 

“See something you like?” she asked, nodding at the picture. “Mind you keep that tucked away, though. Old Bimsly’s had to send for reprints three times now, everyone and their uncle keeps taking one for themselves.”

Solas chuckled, rolling the paper so as not to crease the image, and slipped it into a sleeve. “I appreciate the warning,” he said, giving the barmaid a friendly smile. She beamed back at him, then leaned in as if to share a secret.

“I have a few myself, what that I plan to sell once Bimsly gives up on posting them again. Although,” she admitted, giving him a wink, “I figure I’ll keep one for myself. I was quite the hunter in my youth, and you never know who walks through your door.”

“Indeed,” he replied, not really sure what to make of that, and wishing she would leave him in peace. The woman leaned back and laughed, patting him on the shoulder. 

“I pity the lass. Face like that, half of Thedas will be on her tracks before the harvest is in, mind my word!” The woman did not seem to expect much in the way of a reply, which was good, because he only managed a nondescript grunt of acknowledgement. She headed off to call in his order for ale and food, and he took out the portrait once again. Let Bimsly try to seize his prize.

He studied the familiar face once again, tracing the confident lines of her jaw, her brow, her lips. Seeing her, remembering how she felt as he ran his fingers over the page, it made his heart ache. His departure had been best for her in the long run, and she would never forgive him once she discovered the truth. Still, the loneliness that hit him at the mere memory of her laugh, her scent, that smirk… he wondered what he might say to a desire demon should it manifest itself in the waking world and offer him another chance to sweep her into his arms.

But to leave the Inquisition, to strike out without telling anyone of her inner circle where she’d gone seemed risky at best, foolhardy, even for her independent spirit. Still, he smiled a little at the memory of a stolen afternoon nap, and his promise not to tell anyone where she’d gone so she could escape the bustling walls of Haven, and Cullen’s men frantically searching for her. She had defeated Corypheus, learned to stabilize the anchor, and incorporated its power into her defenses. The thought of her alone in the woods was not ideal, but he was confident that her resourcefulness and luck would see her through.

Perhaps he would hunt for her in the Fade that evening, just to ensure that she was unharmed. Her presence was always there, a lingering tug at the back of his mind—two-fold now, with the anchor still tied to his magic, and the binding of the Well tethering her to Mythal. He’d resisted the temptation before. They both had emotions too raw to dare an encounter in the Fade, but if it was to ensure her safety, a brief venture into her dreams would not cause any lingering damage.

He heard the woman returning with his food, and he shifted the portrait to the side, not bothering to try to return it to his sleeve. He hoped that his apparent interest in the paper would avert any additional conversation with the boorish woman. 

“Still gazing at the lady then?” she asked, and he gave her the briefest of nods, moving the paper further to allow her room to place his order. However, instead of food, she placed a sheet of paper in front of him, and he recognized it as his own WANTED poster. In his distraction, he’d forgotten to remove it from the board outside, and as faded as the picture was, a case could be argued that it was him—enough to bring in the local Inquisitor guard, at least.

“I’m more inclined to gaze at this one, myself,” she said, her voice low. He tensed and flicked his eyes up at her, resting a hand on the staff he’d nonchalantly placed beside him on the bench. She slid into the seat across from him, locking eyes with him and tilting her head towards his portrait. “As I said, you never know who comes through those doors.” 

“A passing resemblance, perhaps,” he said, his mind already pulling together the spells of forgetfulness and disinterest. The woman eyed him, arching a brow.

“Rumors say he was a power-hungry apostate who thought to better his position by way of the Inquisitor’s bed, and that he left when he realized she could not give him the power he wanted,” she pressed, tapping the picture and then sliding a finger down to the reward below. “He must have broken her heart for her to heap such a healthy bounty on that head.”

His fingers clenched around the staff, fighting down the bitter spark of indignant fury and guilt. Still, he kept his voice level, years of meditation and deceit helping him keep his placid mask in place.

“Rumors are often unkind opinions that fail to consider the subtleties of a situation, instead generalizing to the point of falsehood. Any conjectures made without proof are simple hearsay and thus should be dismissed,” he replied, wondering what other malicious lies had grown in his absence, not wanting to contemplate the new lies that would spread once his true identity was known. 

“Was it a lie that he loved her?” the woman asked, quieter. She stared at the paper between them, brows drawn together and lips pursed in thought. 

“No. He loves her truly, with all his heart,” he replied, a terrifying thrill of hope and fear beginning to blossom in his chest as he studied her closer. She met his gaze, frowning slightly, then reached into a pocket to pull out another sheet of paper. It was another of his posters, but this one had been touched up by an inexperienced hand, giving the face a rougher, although more accurate depiction.

“Varric found the best artist on hand, but the woman didn’t know you. She didn’t know about the scar over your eyebrow, the dimple in your chin…or how you scowl when you’re surprised by something and you don’t like what you’ve found. Yes,” she chuckled, “just like that.” 

He stared at her, truly looked, and he could see the subtle magic that curled around her, obscuring her features and suggesting that the eyes look elsewhere. He could feel the tug of the anchor now that he knew to look for it, although it was muted beneath the heavy lattice of diversion spells. He used the enchantments himself for the same purpose, but how she’d come across such a powerful ability to disguise herself when her only source of magic was the anchor…

“Xenon owed me a favor,” she explained with a shrug. “Varric took me to Kirkwall to meet with his editor, and I ‘accidentally’ got lost on the way back by taking a shortcut through the warrens beneath the city. I made an opportunity and took it, although I still think blonde is a terrible color on me.”

“Vhenan—” he breathed, and she frowned across the table at him.

“Oh, Vhenan, is it?“ she interrupted, steepling her fingers together and leaning close. “You disappear without leaving a note, speaking to me before you leave—you didn’t even visit me in the Fade” she hissed, biting out the words as he flinched. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on her control before speaking again. 

“How does one function without a heart? Because once you were gone, nothing mattered anymore. Things kept happening, because of course they did, and I had to go attend things in an official capacity, because of course I was the only one who could. But where were you? You left no word, you just disappeared after the damn sphere broke. I’d say my heart was broken, but you were just gone.”

She sighed, falling back into her seat and shaking her head as she closed her eyes again. A familiar gesture, even if the face and magic were wrong. He had difficulty focusing on her, the spells gently insisting he look out over the room or outside, but he forced himself to watch this woman who had beaten the odds to find him in the middle of nowhere, despite his best efforts. 

“I was convinced that you left because you were angry that I didn’t save the stupid thing. I thought you cared more about a stupid Elvhen artifact than you did about me and that I had disappointed you.”

“The fault lies completely with me,” he assured her, trying to remember if he’d ever come up for a satisfying response in the many times he had played out such a reunion in his head. If he had, he could not remember what he had intended to say. Words would fail him in the long run anyway, so it made little difference. 

With no words to say, he simply reached out and placed a hand over hers, disappointed that she wore gloves, but knowing it was an easier way to mask he true identity than more magic. She did not return the gesture, but neither did she move to break contact.

“When you left, I spent a fair amount of my time thinking about what could have compelled you to leave in such a way. I decided that you are either one of the cruelest or most cowardly people I know.” She flicked her gaze back to him, then looked out at the other patrons in the room.

“It felt that way, but I know you, and for all of the hurt, you've never acted to be spiteful or unkind. And you never shrank from danger before, never faltered when we faced perils that few can even dream about. From the moment you willingly placed yourself under Cassandra’s supervision, no one could claim you suffered from cowardice.” She laughed a little, then shook her head.

“So if you are not cruel, and you are not a coward, but I am not the cause… I'm not Varric, Solas, I cannot begin to theorize the reasoning behind your actions. You told me once that you would explain everything.”

“Did I?” he asked, and she paused, frowned, then pulled away a hand to massage her temples.

“ _’I promise you, everything will be made clear’_ … fenedis,” she looked at him through her fingers, her expression hidden by her hand. “Nothing has been made clear, but perhaps it’s because I found you too quickly. What terrible thing do you have planned that you would not tell me? Why keep secrets?”

He sighed as well, starting to pull away his hand, but she caught him, refusing to let him leave.

“Please, Solas,” she murmured, her fingers tangled in his sleeve.

“I thought it would be easier, in the long run,” he admitted, seeing the confusion and wishing there was some better way to handle this.

“Easier than explaining? You said that what we had was real—“

“It was, never doubt that.”

“—but where else does one keep secrets but tucked away in their heart? You say one thing, but do another. I do not understand, Solas. I love you, I would follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond, but I do not understand.”

“The task ahead is fraught with dangers, and I would not see my past transgressions bring you to harm, or worse." As he spoke, she tightened her hold on his sleeve, shaking her head. 

“And you would leave again, rather than tell me,” she said, her tone flat and eyes narrowed.

“Given your position, it would be best,” he said, resisting the urge to pull her closer, even as he tried to convince her to leave. He longed to run his fingers through those long tresses, to draw her against him to see if even her scent had changed with this foreign magic that wrapped around her. 

She sat back, withdrawing her hands to fold her arms across her chest. “I told you once before that it was never my desire to stay. I never promised anyone that I would linger after we accomplished what we set out to do. That fight is done. Life goes on. Exit, stage left. I had hoped we might do that together, but apparently our story needed a lover’s quarrel first. So, I am asking you, can we skip to the happy reunion where all is forgiven, kisses are exchanged, and we go off to face the world together, side by side?”

He sat back in his seat, mind racing over the possibilities. He could strip her of the spells that bound her disguise, baring her to the Inquisition soldiers so they would bundle her back to Cullen and the safety of Skyhold. Or, Mythal could compel her to forget, to turn away and return to the fortress of her own accord. He could disappear, but he would have to double his efforts to hide from her, and the temptation to have her by his side was strong. But it was not simply a matter of his own desires; would she wish to stay, once she knew him for what he truly was?

“You may come to regret that request. This is not a gilded fairytale from one of Varric’s stories, and I see few futures where things will end with a clean ‘happily ever after.’ What would you do if you found you could not stand the truth?” he asked, but to his surprise, she laughed.

“After all that we’ve seen together, if you told me you were the Dread Wolf himself I don’t think it would faze me.” She paused, tilting her head. “Does that mean you will tell me everything?”

“No,” he replied, standing and collecting his staff. He raised a hand to stem her complaint, then held it out to her. “I will show you. After, you may ask me your questions, and I will do what I can to answer.”

She beamed at him, slipping her hand in his and standing.

“ _Daras, daran_ , Solas. Lead on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
>  _Daras, daran_ \-- you go, I go.


	2. A Walk in the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In search of the truth, Remli agrees to follow Solas back to his camp so that he can reveal all.

Remli marveled at the ease she found in falling into step with him again. It had been months since they had walked side by side—nearly a year since Corypheus fell—but they set an easy stride, and moved in a comfortable silence. Solas walked slightly ahead of her, leading her from town down the road for a few miles before turning off on a half-overgrown game trail. 

She kept him in her sights, half-afraid that she would look away and he would vanish once again. The trail had enough landmarks that, should the need arise, she could find her way back to town. The trees thickened around them as the bushes and underbrush died away, the old growth forest blocking out the remaining day’s light. The gloam of the woods slowed her a bit, forcing her to look down more often than not to avoid tangled roots.

She cursed under her breath as her toes hit a snarled root, but Solas’ hand was there to steady her, and when she did not let go, he did not comment. Instead, he led her deeper into the woods, his footing sure and his pace steady. His hand was a warm comfort, welcome after such a long time apart.

“It is not far,” he promised.

As the tree cover began to wane, starlight filtered in through the leaves, and she started to get her bearings once again. The rocky ground of the game trail had coalesced into a roughly paved path, and broken fragments of walls lined the way. When they reached Solas’ camp she laughed, unsurprised to see where he’d set up camp.

Moonlight played in the clearing of what had once been a great hall of an ancient building, no doubt Elvhen. White marble walls sparkled in the cool light, with wild embrium flowers glowing a dim red at the base. Broken columns of statues and pillars stood tall amidst the trees, the ancient bones of a once-grand villa, now exposed to the elements.

She could hear a fountain or some sort of waterfall nearby, and nightbirds whistled from hidden places amidst the ruins. It was idyllic, like a place only imaginable in a dream, untouched by the current political upheaval and mortal interference. A simple bedroll and the remains of a firespit were the only evidence that someone had been here in the millennia since the walls started to fall.

“Are there spiders?” she asked, remembering a retelling of one of his more colorful recollections of his adventures. He shook his head, raising a hand to bring life back into the campfire’s embers.

“They have been encouraged to find shelter elsewhere,” he replied, stepping away from her to put down the bundle of goods he’d managed to purchase. When he straightened, he kept his back to her, shifting from one foot to the other, looking around the rest of the ruin with a rueful smile. Had she not known him so well, she would have pegged him for being nervous. 

It was good to see him in his natural element, such as it was. The months away from the Inquisition had given him a darker flush to his cheeks, and if he had not gained physical power, his magic felt stronger, more persistent. She could feel it curling around this little courtyard, the power tingling and tugging at her palm—not in a painful way, but it was a persistent and gentle touch that reminded her of feather-light touches and chaste meetings shared throughout the day in a keep that never missed a detail of her life.

Seeing him there, where he truly flourished…. She thought she would be angry—was angry, a bit—that he would have left her and seemingly gone back to life before the mess with the hole in the sky. Another part of her was so relieved that he still lived, that he hadn’t changed. She wanted nothing more than to walk up to him, wrap herself within the folds of his coat, and breathe in his scent to reassure herself that he was not yet another Fade-summoned shade called to answer her lonely thoughts.

Several moments went by, neither quite sure of what to say or do. As usual, when one didn’t really know what to say—and when really, there wasn’t anything appropriate to say that would encompass everything going through her head right now—she chose levity.

“So, shall we try this again? “ she asked, walking a few paces away before turning on her heel to look at him.

“Try this…?” he asked, turning to look at her once more and frowning a little. She smirked at him, mirroring his mannerisms from their first meeting and clasping her hands in front of her.

“My name is Remli, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live,” she said, trying to deepen her voice to match his range. His eyebrows rose and a smile tugged at his lips.

“You remembered all that?” he asked with a bit of a laugh. She smiled, shrugging a bit.

“It’s not every day a girl meets an attractive Elvhen man while demons are pouring out of a hole in the sky. Such things stay with you,” she said, then raised her hand to take off the glove, letting the anchor’s green light dance in the dim lighting. “Besides, you were very forward, grabbing my hand. I didn’t even know you.”

“Indeed. Although, given the events of the day, propriety was not foremost on my mind,” he admitted.

“I didn’t mind,” she laughed, rubbing a finger over her palm. They fell into an awkward silence again, and the quiet of the woods built up around them again. She blew out the breath she’d been holding, figuring that she may as well be blunt. They couldn’t both continue in this vaguely civil manner, or they would be here until the spring planting. She cleared her throat and tried again.

“So… Were you there when Arlathan fell?” she asked, surprised to see that he didn’t flinch. Instead he studied her, tilting his head to assess what she may or may not know. She held up her hands in defeat, her patience starting to crack. 

“I’m not a complete idiot, Solas. I always knew there was something different about you, with your fluent Elvhen and your unusual knowledge of magic. But I wrote that thought off as an impossible and foolish idea—until the temple of Mythal. With Abelas and the other sentinels, it made me think that it was only a matter of time before you admitted such a thing to me.”

“I…. yes. I was there,” he admitted, standing tall and still beside the base of one of the stone statues. His hands remained at his side, although he shifted his stance a bit, falling into a defensive position. 

“Is that why you left?” she asked, not wanting that to be the answer, not wanting to see that on his face, but not daring to turn away else he flee. She couldn’t read his expression, so she pushed, stepping forward, trying to catch his eye again, trying to get some sort of reaction. “Did you leave because I’m mortal? Is that why you thought it would be easier for both of us? Because you didn’t want to watch me slowly die while you remained unchanged?”

“No,” he said, straightening himself as he gathered up his thoughts. “No, I did not think… Rectifying such a thing will not be necessary, should what I intend to do succeed.”

That made her pause, mulling over his words and their implications. “You’re serious,” she murmured, walking closer to him to study his face. She stopped when she was a few paces away, but he was upwind and she was able to catch his scent, that tang of the forest after a rain. But there was an underlying crispness to it now, a subtle shift that made her think of the air before lightning struck, a tingle on the tongue. “You actually think you could re-attain immortality for the elves? You’re… That’s… something is different.”

“Yes,” he agreed, and she could feel his magic brush past her, lighting up the anchor and sending a shiver of nervous energy through her. “Much has happened, but so much remains. Bringing back some of the glory to the Elvhen, including immortality, is but a small part of the task at hand. My efforts to date have regained me no little increase in power, although it was not done without sacrifice. Such was necessary to complete what still must be done.”

 **TRAITOR**.

Remli physically recoiled at the vehement fury and sudden, unfamiliar voice that interrupted their private moment. She clasped her hands her head to stem off the torrent of furious voices that shrieked in ancient Elvhen, raw emotions that were not her own pounded against her mind. She groaned a little and sank to her knees, trying to hold off the sudden intrusion of the Well’s voices.

"Remli!" she heard through the fog of furious voices, and she shook her head, trying to dispel them a bit. 

"It's the Well," she managed, trying to force the angry ghosts back into a corner of her mind. 

A gentle touch at her shoulder, and the voices silenced, cut off by a cool wave of magic that wrapped around her and soothed the ringing in her ears. There was a worry and a love in that touch, bleeding into the magic that balmed the onslaught of accusations in her mind. She opened her eyes to look up at Solas as he crouched beside her, eyes burning blue and such an expression of sorrow on his face she thought he would weep.

She reached up and pulled him down for a kiss, trying to physically give him the same reassurance he’d provided for her through magic. He returned the kiss, but broke it after a few heartbeats, pulling away and closing his eyes. She held him close, refusing to let him leave, and, relenting, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Tell me, Vhenan,” she said, not sure what terrible thing he could have done to send the spirits of the Well into such a frenzy. He sighed and pulled back, shaking his head. She stood up in protest, but he raised a hand to stop her, not opening his eyes.

“I promised you that I would show you. Should you still have questions,” he said, drawing himself to his full height and looking at her last, “I will answer.”

With that, he raised his arms, drawing in tendrils of magic from the area around them, subtle flashes of green and blue the grew brighter as the strands began to weave themselves together around his body. The glow built in slow swirls around him, eddies of wisps that quickened their pace around Solas’ still form. 

Remli kept her eyes locked on his, determined to watch him through the spell, but the light began to intensify, and her hand began to sputter, feeding magic into the whirling chaos that surrounded him. It became too much to look upon, and she was forced to close her eyes, raising her hands to shield her face. There was a final tug of magic on her hand, and then a sudden recoil as the power rolled back and the mark fell dormant. 

A heartbeat later, and the ruins were still once more. Even her hand was quiet, although it ached and tingled with residual magic. She lowered her arms, blinking away the stars that swam in her vision and gave the glen an ethereal glow.

There was one portion of the courtyard that seemed to soak in the darkness, however, a great, gaping hole that swam in her vision as her eyes re-adjusted to the dim lighting. Where Solas’ brilliant form had been moment before, a void stretched up into the sky, blotting out the stars themselves. And then, slowly, pinpricks of red flared into life, and six large red eyes looked down upon her. Black against black, it was difficult to discern the shape, but the eyes… the eyes left little doubt as to what she saw.

The Dread Wolf towered above her, a figure of nightmares and all that she had been raised to fear, and he had her in his sights.


	3. In the Shadow of the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andraste's tits, but she was not expecting that.

Throughout her life, Remli worked through the great challenges she encountered by keeping in motion. Her mind worked better as she moved, her body often outpacing the finer points of logic when it came to flight or fight mentality. Her mind would always catch up after these episodes, however, and she could always remember what happened after the fact. 

Stuck in the Fade with demons hot on your trail? Run for the giant hole in the sky. Undead Wanna-be god threatening to rip that magical bauble out of your hand? Kick him in the face and bring the mountain down on him and his forces. Dragon knocked out your entire party, you’re out of potions, and there are giants blocking your way? Well, that one hadn’t been up to her, it was Sera who’d distracted the dragon long enough for the others to regain consciousness and limp out of battle, but the sentiment remained.

She could count on one hand the number of times she was either incapable of movement, or her mind could not recall what had happened. The former happened once, that fateful day her hubris had gotten the better of her and the great bear meted out punishment. The latter was a magical blockage from the fear demon, and could hardly be counted as her fault since he had literally ripped the memories from her mind.

Standing here, in front of the massive beast that was Fen’harel, quickly negated all past, present, and future thoughts. There was only the monster who brought nightmares and misery to those who caught his eye.

He also happened to be the man she loved with all her heart.

Briefly, she wondered if the ‘kicking him in the face’ thing would work in this situation, but just as swiftly decided against it. For one thing, even with her athletic prowess she couldn’t jump high enough to make contact, and for another thing, it was still Solas, her heart and home, Elvhen-god and giant wolf or not, and for another thing, she couldn’t actually move her feet, so there was that.

 

For a few moments, they simply stared at each other, Remli’s brain trying to come up with the appropriate response for this situation, Solas— Fen’Harel—simply peering down at her, massive head canted to the side, eyes blinking out of synch. Since her legs weren’t really cooperating, she just sort of slumped in place, frowning up at him and trying to equate “Solas” with “Dread Wolf.” The wolf took a step forward, and her hand shot up, stopping him.

“I spent seven damn months looking for you, you can give me ten minutes to process this,” she snapped, and the wolf flinched, laying down and putting his massive head on his paws. She was reminded of a scolded puppy, and she would have laughed if she wasn’t worried that opening her mouth would allow her heart to tumble out.

Solas… was Fen’Harel.

Fen’harel was walking Thedas again, which meant that all of the tales of warning and trickery her Keeper had told her were true. 

No--The temple of Mythal had shown Fen’harel as a god of rebellion, not the terrible creature the Dalish had portrayed. Solas said that elves were once slaves of the gods, that the valaslin were slave markings, and he’d removed them to free her. 

Had Solas had slaves, back in the time of Arlathan? Had he freed other slaves as he had freed her? Had he had sentinels like Abelas, minding temples raised to honor him? Did he play the part of a god?

She’d lain with a god.

Solas said there were no gods, only powerful mages.

Solas was a wolf with six eyes. 

“You were there,” she said, blurred memories coming together at last, half-remembered visions from those days after the attack at the Conclave, of wandering lost through dreams, pursued by a strange and terrible beast. “Too many eyes,” she breathed, fighting down the giddy laugh that was boiling up in her throat.

The wolf huffed, which she took as an agreement, and memories of past hints and clues continued to fall into place, giving her more insight into the man she’d loved—still loved, damn him—than the three years they’d spent together in the Inquisition.

Solas always wore the jawbone of a wolf around his neck; his magic pulled deep from the Fade and he knew things about magic that marked Vivienne and Dorian as mere amateurs of the art. He knew more history from his “journeys into the Fade” than all of the combined knowledge of the Inquisition’s library.

Fen’Harel, lying to the People and tricking them into… what? Making poor decisions? People were people, no matter the shape of their ears, and people were prone to do stupid things, with or without the advice of Trickster gods. She herself was a prime example of that. 

Solas, so bitter towards the Dalish and their rebuffs when he offered help and wisdom. Stars, coming to them after doing… whatever it was he had done, the Dalish blaming him for any and every little misfortune that fell upon them. Little wonder that he had been so cold and aloof those first few weeks when she tried to get to know him.

Fen’Harel, locking away the gods so that he alone remained… except that they met Mythal, and she and her people held no malice for him. They cited corruption and avarice as the sources of Arlathan’s downfall, even went so far as to imply he played some no small role in a rebellion of sorts. Slaves? Would Fen’Harel act in the interest of others, when all the tales colored him selfish and cruel?

But Solas was one of the most selfless people she knew. Solas, going out of his way to help the pilgrims they met along the road, bringing comfort to those who would accept it. Giving her succor and strength when she felt weak and overwhelmed by the task at hand. Never asking her for anything in return, always grateful for what they shared. 

How had Fen’Harel come to be the monster that made Dalish babes whimper under their blankets, and elders offer up silent prayers that he would leave them in peace?

How long had he been alone?

“Do you not speak in this form?” she asked at last, getting to her feet, albeit a bit wobbly. She steadied herself on the crumbling statue base, felt the familiar lines of the statue’s feet, and would have laughed if she was certain she would be able to prevent it from turning into a hysterical fit. Of course he would make camp next to a statue of the Great Wolf.

The massive wolf tilted its head, all six eyes blinking, but separately, so that he never took his gaze from her. “What would you have me say?” his voice echoed around the courtyard, although she could feel the magic as it curled around her ears and blew past her in gentle puffs of wind.

She clenched her fists, her heart pounding in her chest, her stomach roiling. She drew in a deep breath, pulled herself up to her full height, and placed her hands on her hips.

“Promise me you will not leave me behind again.”

He raised his head from his paws, tilting his head, ears pricked forward. “That is all?” The surprise in his voice did make her laugh, at least a little, and she pushed away from her support, carefully making her way to stand in front of him.

“You might find this hard to believe, but this answers more questions than it raises at the moment.” He snorted a bit at that, but she shrugged. “I know there will be more questions, and I would like a very thorough explanation of a great number of things, but for now, yes, that is my immediate concern. I want to know is that if I fall asleep beside you tonight, I won’t wake up to find that I’ve been deposited back at that inn, or that this has been some terrible nightmare and I’m actually still cloistered up at Skyhold.” She crossed her arms, staring at the bridge between his eyes, rather than try to decide which pair to stare into. 

“There will be time enough later to interrogate you, once I’ve had more time to collect my thoughts and fully process everything,” she said, “but my immediate concern is whether or not you will abandon me yet again, or if you’ll let me walk this path with you.”

“You do not know what that path entails, or what dangers it might hold,” he argued, huffing a little and stirring her hair. His ears flicked back as he spoke, not quite flat, but no longer high and alert. She shrugged, walked over to him, and gently laid her hands on his snout. "I cannot promise you that it will end well, or that, should you join me, you will escape unscathed. I would not have you injured further as a result of my actions."

“You can tell me all about it tomorrow. If it’s a foolish plan, I’ll tell you, then we’ll figure out something better that we can complete together.” She leaned forward to rest her head against his nose. “Promise me you won’t leave me again.”

There was a warm, gentle wind, and then she was caught up in his arms, his grip holding her tight against his chest, and his face buried in her hair. He was murmuring something sweet in Elvhen, although he was speaking too quickly for her to catch most of it. She pushed him back, gently, just far enough so that she could see his face.

“You will have to teach me more of that,” she chided, but brought her hands up to either side of his face, searching his eyes. “What did you just say?”

“So long as the stars burn in the night, I can think of no higher honor than to have you walk beside me.“

“Sweet talker,” she laughed, pulling him close once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bonus chapter in the works, but because of this I needed to boost the rating up... Thank you for all of the views, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and the comment! <3


	4. Getting Reacquainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as reunions went, this was not quite what she had envisioned.
> 
> This chapter starts out safe enough but quickly goes NSFW, feel free to skip ahead to the next chapter if that's not your thing. :)

As far as reunions went, this was not quite what she had envisioned.

In the first few days following Corypheus’ defeat, she’d been beside herself with worry, afraid that something had happened, afraid that Solas had somehow gotten sucked into another rift that Corypheus had managed to create from the Fade. She envisioned her love trapped, or injured, or worse, because he’d promised that she would get her answers, and he’d never just up and abandon her. It was three days before her advisors could coax her to leave off the search herself and return to Skyhold. 

As the weeks passed and it became more apparent that he had deliberately left her (a few token mementos gone from his study in the rotunda, his books gone from his room), she’d thought about having him brought back in irons before the throne so she could verbally flay him in front of the court (before ultimately forgiving him, of course). Those were petty, dark days. She knew them for what they were and didn’t care, snapping at courtiers who rubbed her the wrong way, sending Josie into a tizzy as the ambassador had to soothe bruised egos. Remli longed for him to return, and she hated him for making her so frail in a time when they should have stood triumphant, together at last.

Worse were the long and lonely nights. She was grateful that Cole still had little understanding of propriety—long after she told the others she was fine and escaped to the solitude of her room, Cole appeared, because of course he knew it wasn’t fine, couldn’t be fine, except that she had to pretend for the sake of others, if not herself. He sat with her through the night, telling her things to help ease the pain, not telling her she was foolish to feel what she felt. 

The months passed, bringing with them more crises and situations that needed her personal attention. Ultimately, that had helped in the long run. She still pondered over what she would say or do should she find him again, but with less time to fret, she found the initial anger fading. The worry remained, though, and in her ruminations, she’d moved their argument to her private chambers. She would not publically display her wounds, not with so many damn nobles coming to call. No, the bedroom would be best; when she was done giving him a piece of her mind, they could easily move on to his penance. 

And then, four and a half months after her victory over Corypheus, she’d been summoned to assist the village nestled in the Frostback Basin. There she’d learned the true history of the first Inquisitor, and she longed to discuss it what they’d seen with Solas in the private moments at the end of the day. She wanted to know what he thought of the Avaar arrangement between spirits and mages, and if he thought such a thing could and should be introduced into the north.

When they’d learned that Ameridan had been an elf, she’d wondered if he’d ever heard rumor of such a thing in the Fade. When they’d met the spirit that recounted Telana’s pain and last thoughts, she’d wondered at what might possibly go through someone’s mind when they knowingly left their loved ones behind, and if he had actually intended to return. 

Then she met her predecessor, and the pain in Ameridan’s eyes when he learned of Telana’s passing had cleared that doubt, at least. As they watched him fade from the world, she’d wondered if all stories of heroes had to end that way. And then she contemplated who among her remaining entourage would be sentimental enough to help her make her escape, or, failing that, if she had enough blackmail on anyone to ensure their assistance and their silence. Not because she feared death, but because she wanted to put things right before the end.

In all of her fantasies, she never envisioned them sitting at a campfire, quietly eating a simple meal of rabbit and bread, enjoying the companionable silence that fell between two people who shared a deep secret. It was odd, to say the least, and now that the shock was starting to wear off, also incredibly confusing. One thing, above others, bothered her the most.

“So, what do I call you?” she asked, tearing off a chunk of the bread. “Was ‘Solas’ just something to tell the shems you met in the enclave camp?”

“I was always Solas, long before I became anything else,” he replied, taking the rabbit from the spit, testing it, then pulling out a knife to carve off chunks of meat. “Throughout my travels I used other names as needed, and I was called many things. After the explosion at the Conclave and the consequential Rift, I met Leliana and Cassandra guarding access to the magic and sole survivor. Cassandra would have accepted any name, I think, but Leliana…. Sometimes the easiest way to lie is by telling the truth.” He gave a tight smile, offering her a plate with food. “Despite what the Dalish think of me, I try not to making lying—or the withholding of truth—a habit.”

“Hmm,” she replied, taking the plate and settling it on her lap, although she did not eat immediately. Instead, she watched him, eyes narrowed, trying to sort out her thoughts and emotions. If he noticed (and she was sure that he did), he said nothing, focusing on eating instead.

“Why were the voices of the Well so angry, and how did you know how to stop them?” she asked, despite her earlier insistence that there would be no questions until tomorrow. She wanted to believe that he would answer any and everything she asked, but the fear of waking up alone compelled her to speak.

He chewed on the chunk of rabbit he’d conveniently popped into his mouth, no doubt trying to buy time to think up some sort of reply. But she was patient, and it had only been a nibble of food. He’d taken little enough on his plate begin with, so the ruse would only last so long.

“You told me that you helped Morrigan find her son in the Fade, and that Mythal took the soul of an Old God from the boy,” he said at last, waiting for her to nod before he continued. “A soul can be passed from flesh to flesh any number of times, so long as both parties are willing.”

She gaped at him, hands tightening on the edge of her plate. “You mean…” but she couldn’t finish the thought, her mind starting to blank with yet another terrible truth falling into place. Solas nodded.

“Mythal willingly gave her power to me so that I might accomplish what needed to be done. Whatever anger the voices of the Well held could have been because they knew I now hold Mythal’s power. While we shared a fondness for each other, some of her followers did not care for our friendship. I suspect they are the ones who reacted poorly to my presence.”

She blinked, trying to assimilate ‘Fen’Harel and Mythal are now the within same person’ with ‘that person also happens to be my beloved’ next to ‘my beloved can turn into a giant six-eyed wolf.’ With that thought, another question formed despite her best intentions.

“But if you now hold the power of Mythal, what happened to Flemeth?” she asked, and took in the slight shake of his head. She blew out her breath, running fingers through her hair, then looked at him through the curtain of bangs that fell back across her face when she lowered her hand.

“You were able to quiet the voices of the Well, which means that you could have forced me to leave at any time,” she said, working through the thoughts as she spoke. “You could have compelled me to forget you and I would have been none the wiser.” 

“Yes,” he agreed. She shivered a little at that, the implications of what he could do—what he could make her do—but he shook his head, most likely sensing her agitation. “But I would not. You deserve nothing less than the truth, and I would not violate your trust by forcing you to act against your nature. I owe you that much.”

Remli heard the apology, and although his posture remained relaxed and open, his voice was softer, more melancholic. Carefully setting down the plate of untouched food, she stood, deliberately walking around the fire. He remained still, his eyes following her movement. Only when she was in front of him did he move, setting aside his own meal, the food more or less untouched. 

She gingerly knelt in front of him, still slightly shorter than him despite his position, and reached up to draw him into a kiss. He returned the touch, and as his hands moved to brace her she took the opportunity to climb into his lap. 

He pulled back, small frown on his face, but his hands remained on her hip and shoulder. “I still have much to tell you Vhenan,” he faltered.

“We’ve had enough reveals for one night,” she argued, shifting her position to press more of her torso against him. Stars but she had missed being held by someone—specifically Solas. Cole, bless, him, he’d tried, but the scent was wrong, the build too broad, the embrace too light. He hadn’t been Solas, and she knew that she would never allow there to be another Solas; love hurt far too much to try again. 

She could feel the argument building in his chest, and raised fingers to his lips to silence him. She willed him to silence, waiting for him to settle under her touch. When he was still, she buried her face against him, returning his loose embrace. The words she wanted to say eluded her; the best she could do was show him. She clung to him, inhaling his scent and finding comfort in simple act of an embrace.

Slowly, she felt him relax beneath her, his hands sliding along familiar paths, drawing her closer. He buried his face in her hair, tightening his hold on her a bit, sighing in content. She turned her head with the movement, finding that favorite spot she loved to nip, just below his jawbone.

“Tomorrow,” she murmured against his skin, “Tell me tomorrow. Whatever other secrets plague you, let them rest for the night. I am only mortal, Vhenan, I don’t know what other big reveals my heart can take.”

At this, his hands flexed at her hips, as though he’d forgotten that she could be taken from him simply by the passage of time, that she was not one of his people, as he had so often mentioned, that she was still a mortal, weak in comparison to one revered as a god.

“I would not lay with you under false pretenses,” he argued, “Nor would I have you angry with me for keeping such things from you.” She cut him off, pressing a hard kiss against his lips. 

“I am frustrated,” she growled, tightening her grasp on his tunic, “in more ways than one. The implications of this—of what—of who you are… When reality sinks in I will probably need to spend some time coming to terms with everything. I am Dalish, and even if all of our beliefs are a lie, they are not so easy to forget.” She toyed with the jawbone, catching his eye and leaning in, bringing her leg up to brush against his inner thigh. “But for now, there are more immediate concerns that I would settle.”

His eyes narrowed at that, and she beamed at him, feeling the weight of the past few months slipping away. She savored the thought that it was just the two of them at last, no impending battle, no well-meaning travel companions to consider. Everything else could be forgotten, at least for a little while. He was here, actually here beneath her hands and deliciously warm and smelling of the woods, his magic a lingering whisper around them. Oh, but she had missed him.

Solas lifted a hand from her hips to cradle her cheek in his palm. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, humming with pleasure. She could feel him stirring against her, and shifted a leg up to pull him closer.

“I would see you as you truly are,” he said, and when she hesitated, he tipped up her chin, catching her gaze as she opened her eyes once again. “I lack the finesse of Xenon, but should the need arise, I can create another mask for you.” 

At last she nodded, watching his hands pull away the magic that had hidden her from the world. Briefly, she remembered Crestwood, and her grip tightened on him as his hands passed over her face. This time, however, when he whispered “you are so beautiful,” he did not pull away.

Instead, he undid the knots of her sash and removed her armor. He took deliberate care in unfastening the ties to her tunic, gently pulling the rough linen from her, using his mouth and fingers to rediscover each patch of skin exposed to the air. In turn, she relieved him of his many (too many) tunics and undershirts, pulling the jawbone over his head and tossing it onto their pile of clothes. 

As usual, things got a bit more complicated with the leggings, as it was never easy to peel them off when she had her legs locked around his waist. There was not much hope for it—she pulled back and stood, albeit a bit unsteady on her feet, and shucked the fabric, adding it to her pile of discarded clothes. He followed suit, but took her hand to lead her to the bedroll, pulling her down to stretch out along the surprisingly comfortable bed of furs and wool.

He settled above her, body warm and lithe, a comfortable, familiar weight. She wanted to draw out this moment, to savor the feel of him again, but the feather-light brush of fingers across her skin made her moan into his mouth, her body arching against him, trying to draw him closer. She twisted under him, trying to find some purchase she could use to grind against him, but he merely chuckled, one hand drawing her arms over her head, the other traveling down her navel, her hips, lower.

She closed her eyes and did what she could to lean into that touch, gasping as the finger that slipped inside, short breaths escaping with each stroke. His other hand squeezed her wrists, briefly, to keep them where they were, and his fingers trailed down her body to stop at her breast, thumb rubbing the pert nub in time with his finger below. His mouth moved from her neck down to the other breast, teasing her with his tongue and teeth. He slipped another finger inside, and she dug her heels into the blankets, trying to keep pace.

And then, as he had so often done in the past, he fed a little magic into his touch, an electric charge that shot through her core and came to crackle in her palm. She froze, her attention snapped from the heat of the moment as she felt his magic ripple through her, familiar—not from the times he’s healed her, or the times he’d brought her over the edge by feeding her with rivulets of power through her veins. The fleeting tendrils that curled into her palm and expelled out of her body in small, green sparks was the power of the Rift, of the Fade. Of Fen’Harel, apparently.

He paused as she stiffened beneath him, lifting his mouth from her to search her face for some sign of pain. His eyes were dark, brows furrowed in concern as she stilled beneath his touch. “Vhenan?” he asked, voice rough and low, his magic pouring over her in an attempt to find some hidden wound or hurt. 

“This is your magic,” she said, and the anchor crackled on cue, sputtering and glowing as his aura came in contact with it. When he nodded, she sighed, throwing an arm across her face. 

“Tomorrow,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “Tell me about it tomorrow. But can you dampen it? My arm’s going numb with all of this crackling.”

He reached up and took her hand in his, the anchor immediately going cool to the touch as he poured magic through the tear. She used her other hand to guide his face back to hers for a kiss, opening her mouth to let him in as he braced himself above her. Holding onto him with both hands, she lifted her hips once again, angling her body to find his and using a leg to pull him flush against her.

She could almost taste the Elvhen he sputtered into her mouth as she bore down on him, encouraging him to increase his pace. She shifted her hold on his head to trace the shell of his ear, causing him to give a low growl and move his mouth to the base of her neck, teeth and tongue working at her skin, even as he surged forward, making her cry out.

It was all she could do to hold onto him, the frantic pace and blissful friction of him inside her making her legs tremble, her hand clawing at slick skin to pull him closer still. He was murmuring something to her, liquid words of Elvhen that pooled in her hair, words that were meaningless to her without the aid of the Well. She could feel him tense, knew that he was close, knew she would be soon to follow, used her muscles to tighten around him.

“Isala ma, Vhenan” she whispered, feeling him falter a little at that, and turned her head so she could better murmur into his ear, “Isala ma, Solas.”

He rewarded her with a guttural moan and a surge of magic that had her arching against him so much that her back left the ground, a cry tearing out of her throat and echoing across the ruins. He rocked into her, helping her extend the sensation for a few more heartbeats, and distantly, she felt the warm rush as he spent himself inside her. As she started to regain some focus, she felt the warmth of his hand as he eased her back onto the bedroll, smelled the scent of their sex, tasted his magic on her tongue.

She also felt him stirring again, and raised a hand to his hip to stop him as he started to withdraw.

“Give me a moment to catch my breath,” she panted, smiling up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

He smiled, leaning forward to touch his forehead to hers. “Oh? And what more would you do with me?” Her smile turned into a grin, showing more teeth as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en, Vhenan,” she said, and she could feel the chuckle as much as hear it. Still, he seemed to have no arguments, and the night was so very young, after all.

 

When they had thoroughly exhausted themselves in exhibiting how much they’d missed each other, they lay side by side on their backs, staring up at the stars. The heady spice of the deep, wild woods was stronger, now that the fire had died down and their bodies cooled. Remli shifted comfortably, more than a little sore, but sated and secure in his arms, it was a welcome ache. She ran a hand down his chest, and he hummed a satisfied sound, his free hand reaching over to cover hers. 

“I know that we promised to speak tomorrow, but there is one thing I am curious to know. Tell me, how is it you found me? I admit that few have located me when I did not wish to be found.” 

She stilled a little at that, weighing the danger of telling him and finding him gone in the morning, changing his tactics so that she would not find him again. It was a risk, given his record, and she knew that after the night they’d shared, she wouldn’t be able to pursue him at quite the pace she’d like, not until she could find a potion to expedite healing and strength. However, it hardly seemed fair that he’d answered all of her questions, and in the end she decided truth would be easiest to deal with in the long run.

“You left a paper-trail” she responded, stretching against him and resting her head on his shoulder. “Or rather, I followed the trail of where the posters of you were not, and when I overshot you, I simply waited for you to come to me. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but when prey thinks they’re not being followed, they tend to take the easiest path to get where they need to go.”

“The easiest path?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“You were going to villages and towns of a certain size, and always in areas where it was easy to quickly get lost in the wilds, and usually in areas where there were rumors of Elvhen ruins,” she explained, running a hand down his side, taking in the familiar lines and breathing in his smell. “You may find this hard to believe, but sometimes I can put two and two together without the help of advisors. I actually had life skills before I joined the Inquisition. I even got dressed all by myself today.”

“You followed my tracks,” he mused, and a chuckle rumbled against her ear. She grinned, lowering her hand to rest it, appreciatively, on his rear.

“I caught your scent,” she laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (courtesy of Project Elvhen):
> 
> Isala ma-- I need you.  
> Lasa ar’an alas’nira aron fen’en -- Let us dance as the wolves do.
> 
> \--  
> I finished Trespasser (ow, my heart) and decided that there would be one final piece to this story before we say goodbye to this AU. On a somewhat ironic note, I'd already sketched out what Solas was going to say in this before I'd finished Trespasser, and then I heard him speaking one of the lines from the story almost verbatim. Writing achievement unlocked?


	5. Check and Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not quite the morning after she was expecting, but it beat that time Vivienne walked in on them in the Hinterlands.

Remli awoke to find herself alone, the bedroll’s blankets neatly tucked around her.

For a moment, she couldn’t place where she was. She knew she’d been next to Solas, that they’d let the fire die down and that they’d fallen asleep under the stars. Now, canvas stretched above her blotted out the sun, and she could hear the stirrings of camp beyond the tent walls. Had everything been a dream? Were they on yet another asinine expedition to clean up yet another mess? Was he truly still gone?

But no, she could smell his scent in the blankets, and as she focused on the voices outside the tent, she could hear that they were elven, the familiar lilt of the Dalish mixed with the harsher common tongue. As she sat up, well-used muscles ached and protested, further convincing her that the night before had not been yet another mocking vision from the Fade. She found her things at the edge of the bedroll, neatly folded and only a little rumpled. She smiled as she saw a healing potion nestled within the pile, a small gift from Solas.

She quickly downed the potion and donned her clothes, feeling refreshed and curious, wondering what had happened during the hours she’d slept. When she pulled the tent flap aside and took in the campsite, her sleep-addled mind struggled to take in what she saw. 

When she’d gone to sleep, there’d been nothing more than Solas’ small campsite nestled among the rubble. Now, tents filled the area, and she could see the smoke of multiple cooking fires. Men and women busied themselves with the small chores that came with setting up a scouting camp, and she could hear the whicker of horses further into the woods. She wasn’t sure what was more alarming, the fact that their secluded spot was now teeming with other people, or that they’d appeared as if by magic within the few hours she’d been asleep.

And really, how on earth had she slept through a bloody tent going up over her?

A slight elven girl paused in her work, saw Remli standing there, and rose at once. The girl saluted, hand over her heart, then stood at attention, back straight, hands clasped before her.

“Savhalla, my lady. Fen’Harel bid me take you to him when you awoke. Would you please follow me?” she asked, gesturing for Remli to follow. 

The two women wound their way through camp, and despite the casual atmosphere of people going about doing normal things, she couldn’t help shaking the sense that something was odd. Being around groups of elves made her think of the last Arlathvhen, and seeing a unit of soldiers comprised entirely of elves was odd, but not off. Some of the people were tall- impossibly tall for elves, making her think they might be sentinels from Mythal’s temple.

Two men laughed as they groomed horses, singing a call-and-response song she recognized as a ditty sung by the southern clans. Then, it dawned on her—none of the people here wore valaslin. There were men and women who were clearly Dalish by their clothes and speech, but Solas had freed them of the blood writing, just as he had freed her in what seemed like ages ago. Seeing others who believed him, who also chose to stand with him despite the lies of the Dalish legends, filled her with hope that they might be able to convince other clans of the truth as well.

The tent set up as a command post was a short walk through the ruins of the building, winding through the courtyard past the fountain she’d heard the night before. Part of the dais that overlooked the gardens was still intact, and it was here that Solas had set up his center of operations. They’d tucked a tent under the archways, sheltering those within from the elements. 

Oddly enough, there were no guards by the canvas shelter, but two stood at attention at the doorway of one of the few remaining rooms. When she saw the glimmer of an eluvian, however, things started to make more sense—why Solas had come here, how the others had gotten here so quickly with so many supplies… 

The girl held back the tent flap for her, saluting once more before departing. Inside the tent, a desk with stacks of papers, scrolls, books, and assorted supplies made her think of the desks of her advisers back at Skyhold. A map of Southern Orlais stood against one wall of the tent, several green markers and pins in place. She recognized some of the locations but not all; Emprise du Lion had never been one of her favorite places to go.

Solas stood beside a man of broad build (for an elf), someone who could have been in his thirties up into his fifties—older, if he was a sentinel of slight stature. Still, he looked vaguely familiar, and when they turned to watch her enter the tent, she thought he might’ve been one of the refugees they’d taken in at Skyhold. Admittedly, she did not spend much time looking at the man, as her attention was drawn to Solas.

Gone were the simple robes of his normal traveling attire. Now, the best way to describe him was gleaming. He ‘d donned armor similar to those of the sentinels, the golden metal clinging to his body like a second skin. As a nod to his title, a wolf pelt wound around his body, and a supple leather waistcoat completed the ensemble. He looked magnificent, and she couldn’t wait to figure out how to peel each piece off of him.

Solas caught her gaze and smiled, his eyes softening for a moment before he held out a hand. She took it gladly, allowing him to draw her close and place a chaste kiss on her forehead. 

“On dhea, Vhenan,” he said, unabashed to show affection in front of the other man. How different from the man who rarely touched her in the rotunda at Skyhold. Meanwhile, the other man saluted her, fist over his heart and head bowing.

“Inquisitor,” he said, and she shook her head, moving her gaze to the man in front of her. That did not prevent her from taking the moment to cop a feel of the new armor, however. Solas shifted a little, clearing his throat, but the other man did not seem to notice. 

“I lost that title when I left the keep,” she explained, and the man frowned a little, clearly unsure of what to say. His gaze flicked to Solas, then back to her.

“Consort…?” he tried, faltering when she scowled at him. The poor man flushed, unnerved, and unsure of how to proceed. It didn’t help that Solas actually chuckled, damn him, his fingers playing at her hip. 

“Lavellan will be fine,” she replied, keeping her voice level.

“Ah, Lady Lavellan, then, yes. Savhalla,” said the man, relaxing a bit, now that he knew how to proceed. 

“Kemit is one of my finest agents,” Solas said, taking pity on the man at last. Kemit bowed his head in appreciation at the compliment, and Remli grinned, recognition dawning on her.

“You worked the bar at the Herald’s Rest,” she said, finally remembering his face. “If I remember correctly, you made a concoction that had Bull spinning in his seat, and you mixed some of the best cider drinks South of Kirkwall.” She smiled, laughing, “I also seem to remember you holding back Harding’s hair after she drank three of your house specialties on a dare.”

The man flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aye, my lady, there were some good times to be had,” he said, then coughed, remembering himself, and clasped his hands behind his back. 

“We were just speaking of how the Commander is doing,” Solas said, pulling up a paper from the table. “Apparently there’s some sort of council being assembled to determine the fate of the Inquisition. Without an Inquisitor at its head, it’s being viewed as a threat to both Ferelden and Orlais.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best if it does get disbanded,” she said shrugging a bit. “The Rift is sealed and Corypheus is gone. I made it very clear to Cassandra at the beginning that the only way I would agree to the position would be if we disbanded the thing once we saved the world. We did, and I’m proud of all that we accomplished, but the time of the Inquisition is over. The world is safe, for now.”

Solas made a non-committal noise, and Kemit shifted his position, straightening a little. 

“I’m afraid there are still battles to be fought, your worsh—Lady Lavellan,” Kemit said, walking over to the map and pointing to several towns in the immediate area. “We’ve reports that humans dissatisfied with the work of the Inquisition and its meddling in politics have started purging clans—not the alienages, not yet, too visible. But over the course of the last four years, six entire clans have been wiped out.” Kemit cleared his throat, embarrassed. “It is my understanding that Clan Lavellan was nearly the seventh.”

Remli blinked, looking between both men. “But why did I not hear of this? Did my advisors not know that such things were going on?” she asked, horrified.

Solas shrugged, and Kemit’s frown deepened. “The reports were given, my lady. It’s possible that given the fact that the Inquisition learned of these attacks after the fact, the information was deemed less pressing than things we could proactively prevent.”

She ran a hand through her hair, furious. “I should have been informed, regardless of the timeframe,” she muttered, and she felt the gentle squeeze of Solas’s hand upon her. “With Corypheus defeated, I can seek out the survivors and focus on helping them rebuild.”

When she was met with silence, she sighed, bringing up her hands to rub at her temples.

“Unless, of course, you stumbled across another enemy even worse than Corypheus,” she closed her eyes, trying to think what blight-infested spawn they’d found that would be worth summoning an army of elves under the banner of the Dread Wolf. “Please tell me there aren’t going to be more demons raining down from the stars.”

“Not quite,” replied Solas, relinquishing his hold on her at last and stepping over to the map. He studied it, hands clasped behind his back, and asked, “What do you know of the Gods?”

“The old gods bring the blight when they take mortal form, and the Grey Wardens strike them down each time. They were ancient beings, the names of most of them are lost to time. They’re sealed away, and no one is quite sure of how the blights come about,” she paused, thinking it through. “But we met Mythal—and you, I suppose. Does that mean that there are fragments of the old Gods wandering Thedas? Have you found such a person, trying to cause trouble?”

Solas shook his head, leaving his position by the map to pace the small tent. “I meant the Dalish gods,” he said, stopping by the table, laying a hand on one of the books, fingers lighting across its cover.

“I only know what was passed down by the Keepers of the clans,” she said, wry smile on her mouth. “But at every turn, you show me that everything I held true was a lie.”

“A harsh word. Misinterpretation of the facts, perhaps,” allowed Solas, and she paused, trying to determine what he was getting at.

“The tales say that you tricked the Elvhen and ancient gods, sealing them away,” she said, carefully weighing her words. “That because the gods were gone, the elves lost their immortality, humans destroyed Arlathan, and the People were driven from their homes.”

“That is closer to the truth than many of their tales, at least,” he admitted, turning to face her once again. “I told you that the valaslin were once slave markings, binding the People to mages so powerful that they were viewed as gods. I sought to save the people from eternal servitude, and unbound those who sought freedom.” 

He shifted, reaching down to open the book to a page where a human had etched a drawing of an ancient Elven symbol of the Dread Wolf. Genetivi, she realized—that was the book she’d bought him so many moons ago, the present that had finally cracked his reserve and led to a passionate evening by her hearth. She flushed at the memory, and Solas, seeing it, allowed a fleeting smile to pass, sharing in that moment.

“Under the banner of the Dread Wolf, an underground rebel army formed, and when the would-be gods went too far, I constructed the Veil to seal them from the world, trapping them in a place where they could no longer harm the people,” he said, but shook his head, sighing. 

“I was wrong. While the overt cruelty of the Elvhen gods was over, the lack of magic made the People sicken, bringing the onslaught of time to a land once ageless. Arlathan, constructed in reality and dreams, fractured and fell,” he bowed his head, remembering. “The Tevinters conquered an already crumbling civilization, and the elves, diminished fell to their blades and were caught up in new chains. In my weakened and slumbering state, I was unaware of the damage I had truly wrought. In my efforts to save the People, I condemned them to a slow, lingering death.”

Remli crossed her arms, a chill starting to run through her as the weight of his words settled on her mind.

“And you woke up to a world where elves were little more than knife-eared humans, slaves again, but to different masters,” she said, an ache forming in her stomach as she put the pieces in place. “Last night, you implied that you knew a way to make us – the elves of today—immortal. Vhenan, surely you do not mean to… Please tell me what I’m thinking is not what your big plan is, because if it is, I am going to tell you flat out, that is a stupid, terrible idea.” 

“With the Veil lifted, the People would regain their power, take back the world that was rightfully theirs and be free to rebuild the world anew,” he said, unfazed by her rebuff. “Think of it—a world where the elves would not be forced to roam the lands, scavenging for food like primitive barbarians. Your clan would not have to deal with Wycome and his ilk, mages would not be traded between clans like surplus goods.”

He lowered his voice, his eyes locked with hers. “You would not be stripped of your position within the clan, ostracized for an injury—“

“Don’t,” she interrupted, holding up a hand.

“I want what is best for my People, Vhenan,” he said, speaking low and soft. “I would help them see the greatness that they could achieve, guide them to reach their full potential.”

“So you’re going to tear down the Veil and unleash the old gods upon the world?” she asked, voice trembling.

“Mages, and yes. At its core, that is the plan.”

“Human will sicken and die with that much magic thrust into the world, while the elves might go mad with that much power forced upon them. The world will be in ruins and recoiling from the magical onslaught you release, and on top of it all you’ll set your former comrades against them, no doubt mad with fury and set on destroying everything that comes in their path.” She threw up her hands in disgust, the anchor crackling to life in her palm. It flared to match her anger, startling Kemit to take a few steps back. Solas remained unmoving, watching her with a calculating gaze. 

“You stood beside me to save the bloody world, and you have the gall to tell me that you’re prepared to stand by and watch as magic rips it asunder, madness running rampant through the ranks of humans, dwarves, and elves alike, destroying them from within? You would do that to our friends?”

“A possibility, yes,” he admitted, peering down at her to watch her reaction. “Sometimes the only options left are bad choices. The destruction of this world would be a regrettable consequence, but sacrifice is often necessary for the greater good.”

“And sometimes you’re so stuck on yourself and your ideals that you fail to recognize that the very people you’re trying to save are the ones who will be crushed under your good intentions. And you plan to lord it over everyone, ‘guiding’ them by either making them obey or succumb as ‘regrettable consequences’ of their actions,” she snapped, feeling her hackles rise. Solas did not react, but Kemit flinched, eyes narrowing and hand going to his short sword. At that movement, however, Solas did react, his mouth settling into a thin line.

“Leave us,” he said, lowering his head and turning slightly to look at the general. The man saluted, and fled the tent like… like the Dread Wolf was on his tail. She would need to come up with some new curses. Maybe she could write to Sera for inspiration. 

Solas turned his gaze back to her, and she felt her heart stutter for just a moment, unprepared for his unrelenting calm while he spoke of world-wide genocide. “I warned you, Vhenan, that there were more terrible things to come,” he said. 

“Killing everyone and destroying everything we worked so hard to achieve is not terrible, Solas,” she snarled, clenching her fists as the anchor reacted to her fury. “It’s monstrous. Are you so set on this path that you will become the very thing you hated? Dread Wolf indeed!”

“This world was a mistake,” he said, lips drawn tight and voice low. “I alone must set it to rights, to atone for what was done to my people.”

“A mistake?” she hissed, “You asked me once what I would do with the power of the Well. I told you that I would work to rebuild the world, to make it better. Rebuilding a world you deemed so terrible that it drove you to create the Veil in the first place? Truly? That’s your end goal in all of this?”

“My goal is to see the Elvhen people take back what is rightfully theirs,” he said, anger snapping into his voice at last. “It will be a long, painful process, one that I do not suspect I will survive to see to fruition. But the elves need this, and they need me. For that, I will do what is necessary.”

“I needed you!” she shouted, fury running cold through her veins, tendrils of green magic spiraling up her arm. She stalked towards him with each step, seething. “Where were you when I had to justify why seizing land and raising an army was for the best interests of Thedas? Why weren’t you there when the Chantry revived the circles, despite everything we tried to do to bring parity to the mages? When news of the titans and the source of Lyrium was leaked by one of the Inquisition’s own damned agents, why weren’t you there, helping us find the traitor? Where were you when I was left alone in an institutionalized prison you helped create?” 

A breath away from him, she glared up at him, furious that she would have to tilt her head back to look up at him. He’d taken on that stoic mask, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. He was angry, too. Good. 

She jabbed at his chest, feeling the sparks of magic skip across his armor, the magic reaching into her other arm and flaring at the contact against the cool plate. The damned thing reacted strongly to his presence, and she could feel magic rippling through her veins. Was this the feeling that mages experienced before they turned into abominations?

“I had to face those things alone,” she seethed, “I had to put on a damn smile and wade through all of that shit by myself, because the one person I let in, the one person I trusted enough to love and to rely on, the person I’d hope to share the rest of my life with, he just fucking left. No word, no notice, and apparently no intention of making contact again.” 

He said nothing, although she could see the glimmer of a blue sheen roll over his eyes. Mythal, reacting to her rant? Or Solas, preparing a spell to attack? At this point, she didn’t care. She knew it was a lost cause, that there was no going back. Damn him. She loved him and she always would, whether she lived another twenty years or twenty seconds. She could hate him, despise everything he’d become, everything he tried to do, but she’d be damned if she would let him walk his path alone. Damn him.

“You’re an asshole,” she growled, “I don’t care how bloody old you are, how much magic you know, and how much power you hold. What you’re trying to do might be well intended, but it’s wrong. And if you’re too damned thick headed to see it, then I’ll have to make you see reason.”

His lip twitched a bit at that, apparently finding it humorous that such a small, insignificant thing would bluster and make threats before him. She had no doubt that he loved her, petty, naïve Dalish girl that she was, but there was no question that if she overstepped, if she said the wrong thing, he would do what was necessary to prevent her from interfering, even if it meant the ‘regrettable consequence’ was her death.

She closed her eyes, trying to reign in the crackling fury, to soothe the anchor back to a lesser flare. The air around them hummed, Solas’s magic permeating the tent in a barrier that effectively dampened the sting of the anchor’s magic. Apparently the spell he’d prepared was a wet blanket, so to speak, ready to smother a fire that got out of hand. She took a few deep, calming breaths, trying to will her voice into a low, rational tone.

“You don’t just go tearing holes in the world and hope that you can mitigate the damage,” she said at last, “It’s true, sometimes things have to get terrible before they get better, but you do that on your terms to control what happens. It’s like what Svarah said, things cannot be reborn until they die, but on your terms, not theirs. When we fought Hakkon—“ 

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes losing focus on his face and looking past him as the wisps of an idea whispered in the back of her thoughts. She frowned, trying to figure out why the Hakkonites might give her pause. Her mind kept going back to Telana, or rather, the spirit that had spoken to Telana, had watched the woman die as she waited for her lover to return, had given them the elf’s final thoughts of Ameridan. 

Remli’s hands slowly lowered from his chest, and she shifted her gaze to look at the map in the corner. It would be a long journey from here, crossing the Frostbacks to reach the hidden valley. But if Solas controlled the eluvians, he might have a way to get there faster. Faster for what, though? The idea kept slipping from her as she tried to think of why the Avvar were so important, why they might hold the key to everything.

“Remli,” his voice was low, interrupting her train of thought. He held her against him, his grip firm but not painfully so. “Vhenan. You already saved the world once. You owe it nothing.”

“I killed a god,” she said, turning to look back at him again, scowl back on her face. “Don’t tempt me to try it again.” 

He laughed, leaning down to capture her lips, pulling her flush against him. “You can try. You certainly have the spirit to fight for what you believe.”

She leaned back, breaking the kiss and squirming in his grip. “Spirits! That’s it!” she said, pulling out of his arms and walking over to the map. She knew he let her leave, knew he was now more amused than angry. Frustrated that she had such a physical reaction to such a smug expression, she forced herself to stiffen her gait, to lessen the natural sway of her hips. She was also not going to advertise the lingering ache of well-used muscles. Bastard.

Focusing on her epiphany to clear her thoughts, she pointed to the spot on the map where they’d taken down a god-infused dragon for the people of the Basin.

“The Avvar worship spirits as their gods,” she said, tapping it thoughtfully. “And mages allow spirits to possess them to teach them magic. When the mage is deemed ready, they break their pact and the spirit goes on to help another human.”

“An interesting custom,” he noted, coming to stand beside her. “Though in the end, futile. An understanding must be made between spirit and mortal, and even then, the potential for corruption is high. One over ambitious mage and the bound spirit is warped into a demon, feeding off the desires of the one who would use its power for ill. Would you allow such a thing happen to Cole?”

She shook her head, the pieces assembling as she recalled what they had seen. 

“That’s just it, though—it’s a mutual agreement between mage and spirit. But Solas, the Avvar are humans. They co-exist with spirits in a peaceful, productive understanding of each other. The land is teeming with spirits—Dorian said something about the Veil feeling odd there. Humans bind themselves to spirits—and consequently the Fade—with no discernible effect. Don’t you see?” she asked, turning to look up at him again. 

“They are the key to everything. The spirits help the mortals channel the magic of the Fade in a way that would prove suicidal in the circles. If you tear open the Veil, leaving the world exposed to raw, gaping magic, no one stands a chance—only you, possibly the Sentinels, and few others powerful enough to absorb or turn the magic aside. But with the aid of spirits, we might be able to channel that flow, possibly enough to defeat the others of the Elvhen pantheon.”

He hummed, not exactly a dismissive tone, but he looked more bemused than convinced. Still, he glanced back at the map, and she thought his curiosity might be piqued. She walked over to him again, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Please Vhenan,” she said, turning his head back to meet her eyes, “Come with me, let me introduce you to Svarah and her people. They made me an honorary member of the tribe, they will answer any questions we have. Don’t dismiss them just because they are human. We should try to save as many people as possible, shouldn’t we?” _Let me save them from you,_ she thought, _even if I cannot save myself._

“You pose an interesting point,” he admitted at last, “And while I am prepared to see the world torn asunder to accomplish my goals, I would not see those caught in the effect unduly suffer. If you believe this may save lives, it is certainly worth investigating.”

“Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes and releasing the breath she didn’t know she’d held. Why couldn’t things stay normal for more than a day? She sighed, leaning in to his touch as he held her close again. Apparently he had missed this, too. Still, there was one last thing they needed to get out into the open, and now was as good a time as any.

“Now, Vhenan, about this anchor…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this! I hope you are all recovered from Trespasser (HAH.... it still hurts) I am debating a multi-chapter follow-up fic (because I am a sucker for happy endings and I don't think Bioware will oblige), so stay tuned for that. In the meantime, thank you for your support! <3
> 
> \--  
> If you want to see everything I've written in chronological order, you can check out my Masterpost on Tumblr: http://sirladyscripts.tumblr.com/DRAGONAGEMASTERPOST


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